A Budding Romance
by GemstoneProductions99
Summary: My take on how Freya felt during her childhood years as the fearful Bastet and how she felt meeting a certain young warlock for the very first time, all told in her perspective. Spoilers for 2x09! Contains mild violence and language. Cover art by me.
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

My name is Freya. "The lady of the lake", if you will.

Many people who have told stories about me always call me by that nickname.

"Why are you called that? What is it about that name that makes it so special?" people in the modern generation might inquire, and they probably still do to this day.

Some people assume I got it from when I used to live in a little cottage that looked out into the lake. That, as much as I'd like to think so, wasn't where I got my name from. It is much more than that.

You might think I had a typically boring, somewhat easy-going life, but it wasn't that simple.

Since I had joined a secret group, my once innocent life had been in vile torment and misery day after day without end. It became even worse when one particularly frightful day, the once beautiful village I lived in and the people that once inhabited it were all destroyed by a powerful supernatural force; one that I wasn't able to control or put an end to. You can imagine how distraught I was after the incident.

When I thought all chances of finding hope were lost, a miracle happened before my very eyes. A miracle so great it stayed within my memories for all eternity. In the situation I am in right now is deemed unlikely.

If only it weren't so.

If only I could break these chains holding me down and be free, free from all of my troubles and go back to the people I had loved and cherished the most, especially one person in particular.

Before I end up spoiling anything any further, I will now tell you a story about how it happened, and most importantly, how I became the "lady of the lake".


	2. 1: Strangers Come in Different Forms

**Side note: I do not own Merlin or its beautiful characters, they are property of the BBC and Shine Ltd. (If I did own it the series would be so much different, such as Merlin revealing his magic to Arthur early and Freya becoming a recurring character.)**

* * *

**A Budding Romance**

_A Merlin fanfiction story_

**Chapter 1: Strangers Come in Different Forms**

Despite being born and raised a druid, I never actually considered myself to be one because of my inability to cast any form of magic properly. It does take a lot of practise to prepare and accomplish to fully immerse yourself within the magical experience - that much is true, as I'd been aware - but no matter how many times I have learnt about the basic concept of what spells do and when to cast them at the right moment, and the amount of times I had to drag my weary feet over to the Stonehenge and drone indecipherable hymns while holding hands, I _still_ wasn't able to achieve my goal.

Even the druids themselves seem keen to keep pushing me to become one of them as they claim that having a girl in their group would be "unique", adding it would "please the Gods immensely", whatever that meant.

I've never gotten why religion has to work its way into almost every conversation. It's quite bothersome hearing people wanting to 'do this do that by order of our Lord and Saviour'. It's an ear-worm and it's irritating! I'm not in any way a believer in the craft, so it made sense that I didn't understand it.

So, why join this secret cult if I am a non-believer in religion?

It wasn't actually my choice, which was apparent, considering it was more of an accidental encounter, if anything. I will gladly put the blame on the druids for getting me caught up in this shameful act.

It all started when I got lost while stocking up on apples one night and just so happened to stumble across their camp. I hadn't meant to, of course, so I tried to escape, but I wasn't able to as their camp was heavily guarded and blocked off by some sort of invisible supernatural force that was (and still is) unknown to me. I was coaxed in the most bizarre way possible, so bizarre in fact it's really hard to describe exactly what my childlike mind could comprehend at the time.

I seem to remember one of them warning me - and I use the term very loosely as it doesn't sound like a warning - in a somewhat eerie manner, _"It's a sin to God if you don't._"

The only option I could come up with was lying, and since the topic of religion seemed to be inescapable these days just as I had been inescapable with the camp, I told them I was religious. (I couldn't exactly remember what sort)

This was followed by the leader grabbing hold of my arm to press something metallic and hot below my wrist, punctuated by me yelping quite loudly from the skin peeling heat. Removing the metallic disc revealed a pink scorched imprint of a marking of some kind: It showed three swirling legs circling around a tiny dot and extended outwards like a tornado in a fierce storm. I hadn't a clue to what it meant at the time; I originally thought it had something to do with acceptance and security, the fact that I was a new member of the druid camp. I was thinking on the right lines, alas not in a way that made it any more comforting or welcoming.

The druids then sent me on my way, telling me I could come back "when the next evening dawns on the land" so I could practise magic for the first time.

Thus came the moment my life began turning against me all those years ago.

* * *

I was just turning thirteen in the year 587. It had been five years since I joined the druid camp and my powers less than improving; worsening, even. I'd never known magic to become so powerful, it was like attempting to tame a ferocious beast. The druids were able to control their own powers with ease in a matter of weeks, but I was failing miserably with mine year upon year upon year. Any wrong move I make it would either do nothing or go off-course to damage windows, china pots and furniture pieces without telling it to.

The druids were never patient nor polite with me, as expected with most people I normally meet, but those were weak compared to the treatment I would get from the druids.

_Surely they don't act like soul-crushing menaces! Surely they can't be that horrible!_ you may think. That might very well be true, but hear me out, the ones I have met were not as friendly as I made out to be at first all-too-innocent glance.

They were stern and strict, sometimes yelling profanity at me and torturing me in the process if ever I did anything wrong, which happened typically on a nightly basis.

"Coward!" A druid would yell during the many punches and whippings.

"Shameful!" Another spat.

"Worthless!" Another.

"Stupid!" And another.

"Weak!" And another.

"Bitch!" Yet another, a foul-mouthed one, hollered.

Do you see what I mean? How would you have felt if you were in that very same situation as I? It would have been a horrifying experience, would it not?

I would tell my parents about it, but they unfortunately didn't understand because they weren't brought up as druids the same way as I was. All I would get in return was "You'll learn from your mistakes, eventually.", which didn't really help things in the slightest. In spite of this, I used to always come to them in times of trouble and doubt. They were the only people I could trust, anyway; lovely and caring as they were.

I'd pray incessantly to someday meet another druid or druids that would take me under their wing and teach me how to do magic without having to put up with endless pain and suffering.

The daytimes were the only times I'd get a decent amount of freedom: I used go about my day doing many simple tasks required around my household, such as washing and cleaning up inside and out of the house, collecting fruit, going fishing, or just simply gazing into the twinkly waters and misty mountains that I liked to call home.

I used to live in a quaint little village just off the many scenic coastlines of Pentrefhardd; Adeline, it was called, named after the noblewoman Adeline Atkinson, I think it was, who founded it. It wasn't a very popular village, but that didn't stop locals and the occasional tourist from visiting. No surprise, really, considering its beautiful backdrop! I remember it fondly like the back of my hand.

I lived in a fairly small, single cottage perched atop a cliff, which wasn't too close or too far away from the edge. The cottage itself had a sturdy stoned structure with a grey thatched roof neatly assembled on top. The interior was rather tiny as well, with only one room in it as we couldn't afford an extension. One corner of the room had three wooden chairs gathered around a wooden table in front of a bricked up fireplace, another corner was a kitchen of sorts with an oven and a worktop for cooking, another had three separate beds and a worktop for clothing, and another had a neat pile of shoes near the doorway and tools for gardening purposes next to it. That's it. That goes to show how poor we really were.

Surrounding the cliff was a lake that seemed to stretch out into the horizon for miles and miles. Whenever sunlight touched it, tiny diamonds would shimmer and sway along the surface. It was as if we had discovered a mining facility somewhere underwater! Overlooking that was the tallest and most majestic mountains you could ever imagine. It is forever shrouded in mist, even in the summer, and that's a good thing as it makes them look even more picturesque.

I loved living there, it was like heaven. If only it stayed that way.

* * *

I came home one night after another exhausting lesson on magic. I didn't bother having any dinner, so, succumbing to my extreme tiredness, I practically threw myself under the bedsheets and was out like a light within seconds.

Once again, I had been unsuccessful in casting magic and was tortured mercilessly at the camp because of it. I had a huge ringed gash around my neck just above my collarbones where I was nearly strangled to death by a strip of thick leather, possibly a whip from a carthorse or some such, and the only reason for this torture was all because I mispronounced a word in the spell book. Luckily, it didn't completely tear through my skin; I would've lost a gargantuan amount of blood if it did happen. Heaven knows what might've happened afterwards! Again, as you can no doubt imagine, it was a really frightening experience!

I had momentary peace that night despite the irritable throbbing in my neck. Unfortunately, the next morning didn't fair any better, for the pain was still unbearably sore. It became even harder when I went to pick our daily strawberries and apples around the village. I had to try my hardest not to crane my neck too much or it's a battle to fight against the sharp stabbing pain that had been causing me distress for seemingly hours on end.

It also didn't help that I would once again be welcomed with more torture at the camp in the evening. The druids would no doubt be adding an even deeper gash below my neck than the previous night. The pain from that very night felt like fire surging deep within the pores of my skin, a constant flame licking and lashing through the newly open wound. It was pure agony! I dread to think what this evening would be like, the experience would probably be even worse than the last. A worrying thought, indeed!

Whilst my mind was whizzing away, what I didn't expect was someone watching over me as I went about my business as usual. I turn a corner, and nearly jumped out of my skin by what I saw.

A man, much younger than father, was staring at me from a few feet away. He was quite tall, but not nearly the same height as me. He had lush brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a stubbly face. He wore loose, ragged clothes and old black boots to match.

"Sorry to disturb. I couldn't help but look at that sore cut on your neck. Do you need any help?"

The moment he spoke, I was surprised by how high his voice sounded, the sound of something akin to a young boy turning into a teenager for the first time. He looked much older than an average teenager, that's for absolute certain, but then again appearances can be deceiving at times.

Talking to strangers wasn't really my strong point, so I was too petrified to say or do anything. I had a plethora of questions flooding my mind. _Who was this man? Was he a close friend or a relative of my mother's and father's? Does he know about me?_ I wanted to ask him these questions, but, because of my stupid stupid STUPID simple-mindedness, I was too shy to say or do anything.

I suddenly realise he was approaching me and I shrink away. The man noticed this and held a hand up at me. "Hey, it's okay. Don't worry. It won't hurt, I promise you." he coaxed.

I then saw something gripped firmly in his hand, which looked to be a small piece of white cloth of some description. This made me have a sudden, worrying thought: _Had this man come all this way to knock me unconscious and kidnap me?_ Goodness, I hoped not!

I inch away again, this time with much force than before. The man continued approaching me until the lower half of my spine bashed fiercely against a thick tree branch of a fresh apple tree. I was now trapped with the man, who continued to stare at my gash with a suspiciously calm expression on his face.

"Now, hold still."

_No! Get away from me, you fiend!_

I wanted so desperately to say that to him, but alas, nothing came out. Words like that never came out of my mouth. People think me too naive to even say things like that. If only I wasn't so naive. Whenever I felt a sense of dread, a knot would start coiling up in the pit of my stomach, causing me emotional and at times physical pain. If only I could untie that knot and belt out my feelings to the people I'd meet. I would then feel relieved afterwards, knowing that people would pay more attention and understand how I really felt.

If only I could've applied those enclosed feelings to the situation I am in right now. I would've rebelled against the man trying to strangle me, blindfold me, cover my mouth with the cloth or whatever his intentions were. I would've told him not to kidnap me, I would've fought against him, I would've won the battle. Mother wouldn't be too pleased, though.

I continue staring at the man warily as he slowly dapped some sort of ointment into the cloth and bound the open wound around my neck with careful precision. I winced a little at the cold liquid against the wound, but I still froze in place, unsure of what to do.

It took no more than thirty seconds when the man had finished binding and stepped back to inspect me. "There you go. Doesn't that feel better?"

_Okay, maybe he has no interest in kidnapping me after all._

But I still had my doubts.

Before I had a chance to utter a single word, a sound interrupted the both of us.

"Freya! Come inside for luncheon!"

Mother, calling me from the kitchen window of my cottage. She seemed too busy cleaning the oven inside and out to notice us.

"Your name's Freya?" the man queried, suddenly piquing interest. "Nice name. It was nice meeting you, Freya. I'll see you another time, maybe?"

I still didn't say anything, I just watched him waving at me as he leisurely strolled down the path into the village and disappeared behind some villagers.

This was my first encounter with a man and it wouldn't be the last.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**There isn't really an area on the map called Pentrefhardd, it's all made up in the core regions of my brain! The name "pentref-hardd" is actually Welsh for "beautiful village". I thought it sounded like a nice place name, so I used it. Clever, innit? ;) What about Adeline? Well, guess what? That's made up, too!**

**I really hope you like reading this chapter. ****Stay tuned for the next one!**

**GP99**


	3. 2: Memories That Wouldn't Leave

**Chapter 2: Memories That Wouldn't Leave**

My mind had been stuck in a constant loop like a broken record, repeating the same infuriating questions.

_Who **was** this man? Why did he help me? Is he the sort of person to be trusted fully?_

The vision of him didn't leave me either. Those scruffy clothes, those suspiciously kind blue eyes that stared deep within my soul, and...that voice. That rough yet gentle voice.

One scene that wouldn't leave my mind was the surprising random act of kindness he'd shown towards me. Most people I have met in the past wouldn't spend a lengthy amount of time randomly helping strangers in that way, they would just ignore me and think naught but themselves all day long. There was seemingly not a trace of cynicism to be found in that man's heart. Why he decided to help a feeble lady like me is beyond my understanding.

I understand now, but at the time, I didn't.

"Freya?"

I was so focused in my thoughts I hadn't even noticed mother talking to me or noticed her rummage through my basket to inspect the fruit I collected. I hadn't even realised I'd walked through the doorway or felt the basket being removed from my fingers. The distinct smell of oak - the sweet smell of home - broke into my senses and I was awake. I see mother standing by the table, a troubled look present on her face.

"Freya, is something the matter?"

"Yes. My sanity." My voice was slightly cracked. It seemed like the fragility of my state of mind was taking a toll on the way I spoke.

My eyes finally shot up at mother, waiting for an indication that she did in fact hear me. She did, with a look of sadness back at me. She promptly plopped the basket down and motioned for me to be embraced. "Come here, sweetie. Tell me what happened." Her voice was soft and smooth like silk, handled with care and pleasing to the senses. The cuddle was warm and soothing, but despite the fact it helped me feel more relaxed, the knot in my stomach still hadn't loosened.

I fought the urge not to tell her about the stranger I had encountered. She knew for a fact I would get nervous and uncomfortable starting a conversation with them. Gods know what they would be like under that innocent exterior.

"I-I-It's just...I'm scared." I mumble.

"About what?"

"I'm scared about what might happen to me. I hate the druid society and I _really_ hate the druids who treat me unfairly. I don't want to live life in that society anymore. It's causing me too much pain to even concentrate on what I am supposed to be doing. I-I...I c-can't bear it any longer!"

I nuzzled my head against mother's torso as tears began cascading down my cheeks. Soft but audible sobbing followed. Upon hearing this, mother hugged me tighter, shushing me and stroking my hair.

Why was I crying? What's the use? No good is going to magically come out of it. But I cried anyway. Of course, I hadn't meant to.

"I know you don't like it sweetie, you've told this to me and your father many times. I'm afraid we can't do anything to help rectify the situation for you."

The lie seemed to have worked. Although, to be fair, I did get away with many things as a child. However, the statement about my dislike towards druids was the truth. In fact, I was getting tired of all the pain, the torture, the want, the need. But mostly the pain and torture. Oh, how I loathed them! Actually teach me something useful so I might be able to master my magic better. Torture most definitely has nothing to do with it. Why torture me? What did I ever do to them? Was it because I'm a girl and that girls and women in general should be treated poorly?

I really wished I would stop acting like a baby and man up to these situations and give the druids a piece of my mind. Alas, nothing would come each time. As I've said before, I was too feeble and frail to stand up to anyone.

I had nothing. I _was_ nothing. I was useless. Hopeless.

I glance up at mother again, cheeks now as bright as a beetroot and soaked in tears. I'd cried so hard I left stains all over her clean apron. "What's going to happen to me? A-A-Am I g-going to d-d-d-die?" I quaver under the sudden straining pressure of my emotions overflowing out of each hollow crack in my heart.

Mother gave me a horrified stare in response. A very understandable reason to be shocked. She meant the world to me as I did to her, and anything that stood in my way she feared the worst and would protect me through all the sorrow, pain and misery.

"Wherever did you get that idea from?"

"I'm not sure I'm going to survive in these near death experiences I keep getting. I keep fearing for my life every single night I go to the camp. Mother...I-I-I-I'm really s-s-scared." My voice croaked and choked uttering those last words.

The emotional strain became much heavier than before, and my body trembled uncontrollably under the unwanted pressure. More tears streamed down my cheeks as I bury my head deeper under mother's arm.

I really was losing my grip on life.

Now it was mother's turn to shed a tear, not as much as me though. She was clearly moved by my statement, as evident by her squeezing me a little tighter around my slender arms. I felt her body gently sway back and forth. That feeling brought me back to my infancy, when I felt that very same rocking motion in my wooden cradle and mother bending over to peck me on the forehead. I knew then I was in a much safer place.

"I'm sorry..." Mother whispered, placing a kiss on my head.

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault, it was mine." I sniffle, wiping away some more tears. "You did all you could. Things would probably have been so much better, had I not stepped foot into that camp."

"I know, darling. I know."

The cuddling ceased and I shuffled over to pluck a fresh strawberry from its stem. Strawberries were a comfort food of sorts, to me. They help calm my nerves whenever times get too stressful for me to handle. Luckily, there were lots of those in Adeline, especially in the summer. Summer strawberries were at their best during the season as they were juicy and bursting with flavour.

I was beginning to forget about the strange encounter that happened just a mere fifteen minutes ago, for the only thing I had on my mind at that moment in time was how delicious that big, fat, juicy strawberry tasted.

* * *

I awoke the next day to another painful throbbing sensation all along my spine, not around my neck this time. Awful memories from last night emerged, with the druids whipping and thumping me with the same strip of leather. Same old, same old. The torture just didn't end and it never really changed, which was another thing that bothered me when it came to being tortured.

I shoved the thought away and, after eating a mediocre breakfast of mashed oats, I decide to once again go fruit picking. Empty basket in hand, I left the house to begin searching for some fruit, as I had done all the time during childhood.

I walk past father, who was cutting down a bushy tree with an axe, and waved at me, a playful smile spread across his masculine cheekbones. I smile a little and waved back. Father was always busy, working day and night whatever the weather. He almost never had a chance to come and see me on a day to day basis. On the times he did, he would send me simple hellos and kisses on cheeks, and sometimes a cheerful and honest "How was your day?". Despite that, I used to always look up to him in the same way I did to mother, as part of a family; the people whom I gave my full trust in.

I walked further down the village. The stoned pathway was vast, making it easy for me to navigate. Villagers would generally use that long stretch for elbow room to pull wagons and ride horses to and fro. Due to going out fairly early in the morning, there were hardly any villagers out and about doing their own daily chores, which was lucky for me as I hated being pushed around through the slalom course like a ball involved in an intense footie game.

I soon reach the other side of the village, where petite stoned cottages had all but disappeared from existence, the path transformed into lush green grass, and shrubs filled to the brim with strawberries of various sizes and shapes scuttle into view. Roses and butterflies appear one by one and twirled peacefully against the wind around Mother Nature's happy home.

For a minuscule moment, I felt relieved to have some breathing room with no one bothering me. I carefully held a rosy red strawberry by the stem, smelt the sweet pungency and felt around its solid core to test its ripeness, and tugged it off its branch. Plopping the fruit into the basket, I picked another juicy looking one and placed it in the basket. I reach for another, and another, and another. There were so many ripe ones, just right for picking...

"Hello."

I jump at the sound behind me. High throaty chuckling reacted to this.

I whip myself around and, to my surprise, I see a man; the same man I met yesterday. _How on earth did he find me?_ His stocky build and stubbly features were recognisable under his long black hooded cloak in which he was wearing, similar to what most druids wear during private rituals in the dead of night.

_No, surely not. He can't be..._

At that moment, I felt my heart drop from a thousand feet onto my stomach. More and more questions clutter my tiny cranium, so much so, I was developing a headache. One question in particular stood out among all of the others that beg to be answered, and that burning question was...

_Is he a druid?_

The man didn't seem like it. However, the way his cloak was shaped - a long, flowing oval - and the way it supported his shoulders was uncanny. Young, fresh-faced druids were quite common too, yet he had stubble.

The man smiled calmly when our eyes connected with one another's and removed his hood covering his features. "Freya, was it?" He sounded a lot chipper than ever.

I inadvertently drop the basket and backed off into the corner of a nearby shrub. This only made the man smile wider and even lets out another throaty chuckle. He walks over to me and stretched out his hand.

Now I was beginning to feel even more suspicious of his intentions than before.

"What do you want?" I blurt out.

Another indication of laughter, this time through his nostrils in short bursts, and his smile unchanged. "I was worried you might not have asked." was his reply before reaching over to pluck a small, rosy red strawberry off its leafy branch and handing it to me.

I didn't react. I wanted to take it, but my body was as stiff as a plank of wood to do anything. All I could ever do was stare at him warily, my hazel eyes widening by the second. The man waited patiently for some sort of reaction out of me, but the very same thing happened. Nothing came out of me. He eventually placed the fruit into my basket, all the while giving me a confused glare.

"Had I not made it clear to you? I want to help you. I take it your neck's still sore?" His tone was calm and unflinching and it didn't come off as angry or offensive, not from what I could detect anyway. He sounded just like father, only in a higher pitch.

"A little." I manage to squeak timidly.

"But not as much as it was before?"

I nod then hung my head, blushing from embarrassment. "Sorry I...ignored you."

"It's all right. There's no need to feel upset." The man picks a slightly bigger strawberry from the shrub and hands it to me. I grabbed the fruit almost immediately and didn't let go of it, as if my life depended on that one small piece of fruit.

He then sticks a hand out to me. "I'm Elias, by the way."

_Elias._

It was certainly a nice name. A natural farmer boy's name for sure. It wasn't anything special, but it was a nice name nonetheless. A name that is pleasant to the ears and soul.

I reluctantly accepted his hand and he shook it firmly.

"Now, may I help you?" asked Elias, smile resuming on his face.

I nod, and gestured him to the shrub.

We both set to work searching for fruit in each shrub we could find dotted around the field. A majority of the places we looked were easy to find and all looked ripe for picking, which was rewarding for the both of us. When we'd finished searching, my basket was near full, the pile nearly touching the wooden handle.

"Thank you." I say, now becoming less timid than before.

"Happy to help." Elias replied, giving me another smile of the day.

I look up into the direction of the sun, which was hiding amongst the clouds, and realised it was close to noon. "I have to get back home. Mother would be worried."

Elias nodded in understanding. "It was nice meeting you, Freya. I'll see you another time, maybe?"

"Maybe." I then gave him my first smile in ages, albeit a very small one. "You know where to find me."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**Yikes! So sorry for keeping you lot waiting! College is being a bit of a pain at the moment. Not to worry though, I'll get back to writing and updating frequently as much as possible. :/**

**I know "mashed oats" are essentially one of the main ingredients to make porridge, but that word wasn't invented during the medieval times. I'm assuming you knew that already...**

**Also, Elias is a fictional character. Yes, I OWN him! He will play a significant part of Freya's storyline very soon, I can tell you. You'll know why soon enough.**

**Onwards to the next chapter! :D**


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